The Edge Of Darkness
by Lanna Michaels
Summary: The Ring isn't the only thing that can tempt a king. On-going series wherein Aragorn takes the Ring. SLASH.
1. Seduction

  
  
Title: Seduction  
Author: Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels@hotmail.com)  
Rating: R  
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir  
Setting: AU FOTR  
Disclaimer: Tolkien is rolling over in his grave. I'm definitely going to hell for this.   
No money, not owned, no mercy.  
Summery: The Ring isn't the only thing that can tempt a king. In which Boromir plays   
both Devil's Advocate and manipulator. Ah, what we do for love.  
Who's To Blame: Darth Vader. I'm serious. And Mayetra's dark fic "Heir to the   
Throne".  
A/N: Features Tempted!Aragorn, Manipulating!Boromir, and ConvenientlyPlaced!Frodo. Sorry   
about the Frodo.  
  
  
  
It was late at night and the woods in which the Fellowship camped were quiet. Leaves   
rustled in the breeze and somewhere an owl told the sky of its day, but Boromir paid   
them no attention. He sat alone on a half-chewed log, while Aragorn paced before him.   
His attention was caught, as always, by the long sinewy movements of Aragorn's arms as   
he walked, the strong muscles of his legs pushing against the ground.  
  
"It makes a strange sort of sense," Aragorn was saying. "After all, it's really mine."  
  
Boromir made a noise of agreement and continued to watch his friend. Aragorn had been   
talking naught but of this for days. Boromir had heard the arguments time and time again   
and was getting tired of them. After all, hadn't he been the one to supply them to   
Aragorn in the beginning of their journey? Hadn't he been the one to plant the seeds in  
Aragorn's mind? The tree was not interesting until it bore fruit. Until then, it was   
just another tree.  
  
But the tree was working on that. "Isildur gave his life for it and bequeathed it to his   
line forever. It's weregild for my ancestors. It does not belong in the little hands of   
a hobbit. The payment taken for a king's life should never be given over to a child for   
safekeeping, not while there are men around."  
  
"You were the one to give the Ring to him," Boromir reminded him and smiled slightly in   
the dark. Budding. This was almost too easy. And once Aragorn came to the decision   
Boromir had arrived at two months ago, he would finally take what was his. And then they  
could get out of this wilderness and return to Minas Tirith.  
  
"I recant on that now!" Aragorn said with sudden heat. "I recant on that stupid, foolish   
decision. I should never have deferred. The Ring is mine! It passed to men and among men   
it must belong. Who else can master it? Who else has the power to use it?"  
  
"Sauron?"  
  
"'Sauron'?" Aragorn mocked. "Sauron is weak. Disembodied. His Nine will ride for whoever   
wields the Ring, his Orcs are not much better. And even Saruman will bow to the power of   
the Ring, like he has bowed to Sauron this past year."  
  
"It is not wise to underestimate wizards."  
  
"Is not the bearer of a Ring a wizard in his own right? How else do Elrond and Galadriel   
control their domains, fighting against the wearying of their kind?"  
  
Ah, so Elrond did indeed wield one of the elven rings. Boromir had not known. "Don't   
grow too rash, my friend. Birthrights are not always freely given."  
  
"You think I do not know that, son of Denethor? Have I not these past sixty years worked   
for my birthright, worked to be called King of men? The Ring will only aid me. It is no   
trinket, my love. It is the key to my inheritance that was stolen from me."  
  
"And I will see you King of Gondor," Boromir soothed, "yet, do not grow foolhardy. The   
taking of a ring is no mean feat."  
  
Aragorn sighed. "Your counsel is good, Boromir. I take it to heart always." He sighed   
again and sat down on the log next to his brother in arms. "I admit to being in need of   
it now. The Ring calls to me and I cannot help but heed its song. Can you not hear it,   
Boromir?"  
  
"I can."  
  
"What does it sing to you? What does it promise you? Can it truly keep its promise?"  
  
"I suppose it depends on the promise. The Ring shows me peace, something I have never   
known. I suppose it can deliver that. But I cannot counsel you until you have told me   
all. You know that, Aragorn."  
  
Aragorn was silent for several moments, then he said carefully, "The Ring is circumspect   
in its offer. But at the root of all my visions is one thing."  
  
When Aragorn was not forthcoming with more information, Boromir prodded, "Which is?"  
  
"You."  
  
Boromir caught his breath and did not answer. Aragorn seemed not to notice.  
  
"I see you. So many different ways, my dear, but so much the same. You are my lover, my   
prince, my willing servant. Steward to the Ring. Avenger. My enforcer, for all kings   
have a need of a strong man to carry out his will."  
  
"And how do you see me?" Boromir whispered.  
  
A smirk graced Aragorn's chapped lips as he slipped into memories. "I see you tied up,   
spreadeagled on a bed in Minas Tirith, which I have renamed Barad-âr - the tower of the   
king. I blindfold you usually, so you can feel with such accuracy every thing I do to   
you. Sometimes I tie you face down, but other times I want to see your face, your   
emotions, as I slowly pierce you. It's wonderful to enter you, the feeling never fades  
over time. And sometimes I undo your gag and make you suck me, make you swallow me. I   
like both your holes so much." Boromir moaned at the imagery, but Aragorn did not   
notice. "And sometimes I have you kneel before me and tie you like that. A perfect   
subject, bowed in supplication. So beautiful. So willing. And you're all mine, to do   
with as I wish. I can restrict you to just these rooms and take you whenever I desire. I   
can have you live beneath my desk, giving me pleasure as I work. I can bring up   
prisoners and watch you kill them, and then make you bathe in their blood. I can order   
you to pleasure complete strangers." At that, Aragorn seemed to come back into himself.   
"But I won't," he added quickly. "Because you'll be mine, Boromir. And I won't share   
you. I'll keep you to myself always. I'll tie you to the bed, chain you to a wall, so   
you cannot leave me."  
  
"You won't have to do that," Boromir cupped his king's face in his hands and kissed him   
lightly on the lips. "Not unless you want to, not unless you want to see me degraded. I   
can worship you without duress. I can love you without provocation. I can be yours,   
Aragorn. All you have to say is that you want me."  
  
"I want you. Do...do you want it? Do you want me like that?"  
  
"My liege, I want you any way you are willing to have me. If I haven't made that clear   
before now, then let me make it clear now." Boromir moved off the log and knelt before   
Aragorn, taking the stunned man's hands in his. "I love you, son of Arathorn. I want   
you. I will do anything for you. If you wish me to swear fealty now, I will do it."  
  
"You-you are willing to do that now?" Aragorn looked around their surroundings with some   
confusion. "This is hardly the right setting-"  
  
"No, there will never be a better time," Boromir declared. "Because if I don't do this   
now, I know you won't believe me. You are so humble, Aragorn, and so modest. You don't   
see your own beauty. You don't see how truly wonderful you are. You don't see how truly   
worthy you are of all Middle-Earth bowing to you. As I want to. Let me do this." Moving   
into a slightly more comfortable position on his knees, Boromir took a deep breath and   
began. "I, Boromir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, do here swear fealty and service   
to Aragorn, Arathorn's son, Arador's son, who was born of Argonui of the line of   
Valandil, Isildur's son, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to   
go, in need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or dying. From this hour   
henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world ends, I am forever   
my king's. So say I, Boromir of Gondor, and so I shall uphold. I do swear."  
  
Aragorn was so far gone not to remember the proper response. "And this I, Aragorn,   
Arathorn's son, Isildur's heir, do hear and witness, and this I will not forget, nor let   
pass from memory. Rise Boromir, son of Gondor, bondman of your king, and receive your   
due." Boromir rose and Aragorn leaned up to kiss his jaw. "You didn't have to do that,   
my love."  
  
"I wanted to," Boromir said. "Now, my liege, if you will let your servant show you of   
his loyalty, I will prove to you my oath."  
  
"How could I refuse you anything?"  
  
Boromir smiled at that and knelt again, this time putting his head instead of his hands   
in his king's lap. His hands sought out the ties of Aragorn's leggings and breeches and   
untied them with the skill of one who had done this many times. He was pleased to note   
that Aragorn was already half hard. It took only a few strokes to bring Aragorn to   
fullness and then Boromir dipped his head. "Shall I endeavor to swallow you whole, my   
liege?" He asked, letting his breath be felt on his king's arousal. Aragorn moaned in   
response and Boromir took that as an affirmative. He matched his words to actions,   
sucking and swallowing faster and harder than normal. He knew Aragorn would not last   
long, not after all of this.  
  
"Boromir! Strider! What's..."   
  
Boromir turned his head slowly to the side, careful of his king's cock in his mouth, and   
was barely able to make out a small shape in the dark. Aragorn's hands tightened in his   
hair and stroked his beard almost absent-mindedly. "Finish it," Aragorn whispered   
harshly. Boromir shook his head and motioned as best he could to the astonished hobbit.   
"Boromir! Finish it!" Well, when he put it that way...Boromir ducked his head again,   
doing his best to ignore the hobbit. Aragorn's shout a few moments later testified to   
Boromir's devotion.  
  
With special regard to his king's cleanliness (after all, he *would* be putting his   
mouth there later), Boromir relaced Aragorn and stood. "Yes, Frodo? It seems your   
Strider is incapacitated at present, but I'm sure he'll be fine in a moment."  
  
Frodo's mouth was moving, Boromir noted with interest, but no sounds were coming out.   
Finally, it seemed Frodo returned to being a civilized animal long enough to regain the   
power of speech. "You-you were..."  
  
"Pleasuring my king?"  
  
Frodo looked faint at that. Was there no sex in the Shire, Boromir wondered. "I need to   
talk to Strider." It was almost a question.  
  
"Then by all means, speak to him."  
  
"Do you have to be around?"  
  
"Yes, he does," Aragorn answered and stood, just as Boromir was composing a response   
having to do with naive hobbits and normal positions for copulation. "I have no secrets   
from Boromir."  
  
Frodo nodded, looking very unhappy. "It's about the...the 'trinket', Strider. Gandalf   
isn't here, so I can't ask him. Strider, is it *supposed* to be getting heavier as we   
go?"  
  
Boromir could almost hear the thoughts going through his king's mind. "This is your   
chance, sire," he whispered so the hobbit could not hear him. "Will you take it?"  
  
"Perhaps," Aragorn said, "perhaps if I could see it. Has there been any physical   
change?"  
  
"I haven't seen any," Frodo replied, but took out the Ring anyway. It glowed bright   
suddenly in the night's air, and Aragorn took a step forward without realizing. Boromir   
matched him, making sure to be at his king's right hand should he be needed. "Maybe if   
you look, though."  
  
"Is the heaviness in your mind, or in the Ring itself?" Aragorn seemed to walk faster   
than normal as he went to Frodo and reached down to touch the Ring. "So beautiful," he   
whispered in awe. Frodo, seeing the danger at last, drew his hand back quickly. "Frodo.   
Give it to me."  
  
"No! You don't know what's come over you, Strider! You don't want this!"  
  
Aragorn threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, no, little hobbit. I don't think I've ever   
wanted anything more than this. Save one thing..." He shook his head as if to clear it.   
"Boromir."  
  
"Yes, my liege?"  
  
"Do you recall the conversation we were having earlier?"  
  
"Of course, my liege."  
  
"Capture him." Aragorn ordered. Boromir moved to obey, unsheathing his sword and moving   
in front of his king to shield him from any sudden moves on behalf of the hobbit.   
Frodo's eyes widened as Boromir stepped closer to him, but it seemed the Ring held him  
in thrall. He could not run.  
  
Boromir grasped Frodo's upper arm tightly and dragged the halfling to Aragorn. "Your   
prisoner, sire."  
  
Aragorn smiled coldly and Boromir almost swooned. Perfect Aragorn. Kingly Aragorn.   
*Commanding* Aragorn. More than he had ever wanted. "Grasp his wrist hard." Boromir did  
so, and Aragorn pried open the hobbit's fingers one by one until the Ring fell   
innocuously into Aragorn's palm.  
  
At this sight, Frodo remembered again how to speak. "No, Strider! Stop it! Boromir, let   
me go! You don't know what's come over you."  
  
"Silence him."  
  
Boromir nodded and cuffed the back of Frodo's neck. Frodo had time to whisper a meek   
"Why?" before slumping down to the ground, unconscious.  
  
"You know, my love," Aragorn said calmly, Ring securely on his finger, "that was a good   
question. Why?"  
  
"Why what, my liege?"  
  
"Why did you want me to take it."  
  
Boromir kicked the body of Frodo out of his way and moved closer to his king so they   
were eye to eye. "Because it's yours. Because it belongs to you. Because it suits you to   
have it. Because it takes a king to wield such power. Because this was the only way we   
could be together - forever."  
  
Aragorn breath tickled lightly over Boromir's whiskers as he leaned in for a kiss.   
"Those are good reasons."  
  
"I think so, too, my lord."  
  
  
  



	2. Corruption

  
  
Title: Corruption  
Author: Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels@hotmail.com)  
Rating: R  
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir  
Warnings: BDSM. Quasi-noncon.  
Setting: AU FOTR  
Disclaimer: Tolkien is rolling over in his grave. I'm definitely going to hell for this.   
No money, not owned, no mercy.  
Dedication: For Luna, who wanted duress. I tried. And again to Luna for multiple   
corrections. Any and all remaining mistakes are products of my own stubbornness.  
Summery: Aragorn has a bad day. Boromir is made to pay. PWP.  
  
  
  
The king was in a foul mood and had been all day. It had started, Boromir thought, with   
the first report from the Northern border that the insurgents were acting up again,   
refusing to give allegiance to Barad-âr. The day had gotten progressively worse, from   
cold food for lunch (the cook had been tortured later; Boromir had seen to that) to the   
growing imbecility of the courtiers. It had climaxed when the fire in the Great Hall was   
kindled too late to adequately warm the chamber in time for dinner. Aragorn had stewed   
through the entire meal and then curtly ordered Boromir to his chambers, dismissing   
everyone else for the day.  
  
Boromir followed Aragorn reluctantly through the Palace, past cold-faced guards and   
cowering pages, until they reached Aragorn's private quarters. A guard opened the door   
and the two stepped over the threshold. Aragorn began looking over everything,   
performing his nightly security check. Boromir waited nervously by the door. He knew   
what was coming and did not relish it.  
  
But instead of the frontal assault which Boromir had expected, Aragorn merely walked   
into his bedchamber, throwing a glance at Boromir ordering him to follow. Aragorn shed   
his clothing and lay down on the bed, hands propping his head up, legs spread. He   
glanced at Boromir for a long moment, causing the Steward to shift from foot to foot. It   
wasn't that he did not enjoy sharing Aragorn's bed, though at times like this he wished   
he had not let Aragorn ring him. 'I will not allow you to fade,' Aragorn had promised   
with that fey look in his eye that only using the One Ring brought on. 'With this, you   
will never age. You will never die. You will never betray me.' Which Boromir would never   
have done anyway, no matter how harsh Aragorn could be in bed.  
  
And harsh seemed to be the plan for tonight. Manacles appeared in Aragorn's hands and he   
attached them absently to the chains that already were secured to the wall behind the   
bed. Boromir wasn't sure, but he thought he saw the glint of sharpened steel lurking   
under Aragorn's pillow. He stiffened and tried to stare straight ahead, tried to ignore   
his King preparing for what promised to be a night of pain. He did not begrudge his use   
as the King's whore, but this was looking as if it was going to test his limits. And   
Boromir had had a bad day as well.  
  
The leg chains were spread now, ready for him. Boromir hadn't seen them be moved. The   
black blindfold and matching gag lay next to Aragorn, within arm's distance. The   
little-used whip also lay near Aragorn. Pain, then. Lots of pain. Boromir winced in   
anticipation. From the looks of Aragorn's preparation, he wouldn't be able to walk   
tomorrow, possibly for the next week. Sword-play was out for the next month, if that   
whip had as much metal on its tip as it looked. More fodder for rumors. Boromir couldn't   
wait.  
  
It seemed Aragorn was finished with the preparation. Boromir was relieved to see a   
bottle of grease on the sidetable. At least Aragorn wasn't anticipating being that rough   
tonight. He had once, Boromir remembered. Five nights before Aragorn's coronation, and   
Boromir had hesitated in killing Denethor. In punishment, Aragorn had not prepared   
himself as much as he could have. Boromir had had to see the healers after that. He did  
not relish a repeat of that.  
  
"Come here," Aragorn demanded.  
  
Boromir surveyed the assorted toys with growing fear. Whatever Aragorn was planning, it   
did not look pleasant. Well, damn it. He didn't have to put up with this. "No."  
  
"You didn't seem to hear me correctly, Steward. That was an order, not a suggestion."  
  
"And I said 'no'."  
  
"If that's the way you want it...," Aragorn left the threat hanging in the air. "It's   
going to happen either way, my dear. Were you willing, this might have been easier for   
you, but since you seem to be resisting me tonight," Aragorn paused and his eyes began   
to glow as he called on the power of the Ring. "_Come. Here._"  
  
Boromir's legs moved as if of their own volition, moving the Steward closer to the bed,   
and then on it in his customary kneeling position: hands and knees on the mattress, head   
resting between his splayed hands, backside in the air. Control returned gradually to   
Boromir but before he could begin shaking, Aragorn manacled his hands to the waiting   
chains.  
  
"Now, Steward, am I going to have to continue ordering you around, or are you going to   
listen to me?"  
  
"I don't want this."  
  
A red handprint appeared on Boromir's bowed head. 'Strange,' he thought absently, head   
ringing. 'I didn't see his hand move.'  
  
"Boromir, why do you try me like this? I know you love me; I can see your thoughts. I   
can see your desires. You want me."  
  
"Not like this, my lord."  
  
Another handprint. "What," Aragorn said with such chill in his voice that Boromir   
shivered despite Aragorn's waning control over him, "have I told you about using that   
title?"  
  
"'Never in bed,'" Boromir recited and was rewarded by a pat on his head. Boromir   
growled. "Please don't be condescending, Aragorn."  
  
"How can I not be when my servant refuses to willingly do what I say?" Aragorn moved   
down on the bed so that his erect cock was almost in line with Boromir's head. "Did you   
think to listen to me before, my dear, when you asked me of my dreams? Did you think to   
listen to what I was saying, or were you only focusing on getting out of that wilderness   
and back to civilization at my side?" He shook his head and moved Boromir's head to just   
above his crotch. "Suck me."  
  
The chains rattled as Boromir uselessly tried to gain purchase on the bed and remove   
himself from Aragorn's hands. He dared not open his mouth, lest Aragorn take the   
opportunity. His feet slid over the silk bedsheets. Funny. He hadn't remembered dropping   
his boots. And then pressure on his finger. 'NO! Not the ring, Aragorn', he wanted to   
scream, but refused to give Aragorn the satisfaction. It always hurt when Aragorn   
commanded him through it. As it seemed he was doing now, with such insistence that it   
felt like his hand was catching fire. And then fingers over his nose and Boromir had to   
open his mouth to gasp, had only a moment before Aragorn slammed his cock into Boromir's   
open mouth.  
  
"You bite, I make this even harder on you," Aragorn warned. Was that even possible,   
Boromir wondered. He was already being forced into something he would have gladly   
embraced had both of them been in better moods. And then Aragorn's hand was pushing his   
head down, making him take his King's cock deep, as deep as possible. Boromir thanked   
whichever Vala happened to be watching for all his practice doing this. At least   
something they did tonight wouldn't hurt more than usual. And this wasn't too bad, just   
like he was used to, except for the cuffs digging into his wrists and the fear of   
manacles being applied to his feet as well. Being chained out like a wanton feast was   
not something that the Steward of Gondor looked forward to. Not even in his   
Aragorn-induced dreams.  
  
"Stop trying to tune me out, my love. You're only going to make me angry."  
  
Damn. Boromir had forgotten that Aragorn could read his mind at will. Focus, then. On   
Aragorn's hands in his hair, stroking his unshaven cheek. On Aragorn's cock sliding   
against the back of his throat, on Boromir's tongue doing a little dance around it of   
its own accord. On Aragorn's legs, gently squeezing him between them. On Aragorn's chest   
rising and falling rapidly, eyes shut, as he enjoyed Boromir's mouth. On the sour   
feeling in the back of his throat as Aragorn's pre-cum was swallowed around his cock, as   
Boromir brought him closer and closer. In any other situation, Boromir would have   
enjoyed having this power over his king. Anything but this. Tears stung at his eyes as   
Aragorn thrusted into him hard, yanking the chains without realizing it. Almost falling   
as Aragorn came hard, breath panting, slurping air as Boromir fought to swallow every   
drop. Aragorn would be mad if he didn't. Madder than he was now.  
  
"That was wonderful, my dear," Aragorn said as he withdrew his spent penis from   
Boromir's mouth. "Perhaps I should chain you more often."  
  
Horror. "No. Please, no." His face was lifted by a surprisingly gentle hand and stroked.   
"Please, Aragorn. Don't make me. Just...let's just sleep tonight. I-I can relax you.   
Please, don't use those...things on me. They," Boromir felt the first tear drop and   
wished he had control of his hands so he could wipe it away. "They *hurt*."  
  
"That's the point of them, my dear. And why would I not use them, after spending all   
that time preparing them? Time you spent day-dreaming. Time you spent thinking of   
something other than me. I don't like that, Boromir. I don't like that at all."  
  
Boromir swallowed hard, the sour taste of Aragorn's come still on his tongue. "I'm   
sorry, Aragorn. I didn't mean to anger you." Please. Please don't do this.  
  
"But you did anger me," and with that, Aragorn rose from the bed, hand pressed against   
Boromir's back to keep him from moving. "I like you like this, so ready for me. I'd keep   
you like this forever, but it does not suit my purposes tonight. Extend your legs,   
Boromir."  
  
The whip had disappeared from Boromir's limited view and he shivered in anticipation.   
Aragorn had whipped him only twice before, and always it was over almost as soon as it   
had begun. This time, though, he didn't think Aragorn would be so merciful. "Make me."  
  
"Not smart, my dear. _Do. It._"  
  
And then Boromir was flat on his stomach, arms chained before him, legs chained behind   
him, spread and displaying him for all who cared to look. Somehow his clothes had been   
removed as well, and Boromir felt his fear grow. Never had Aragorn done this when   
Boromir wasn't aroused. Never had Aragorn done this in true anger. And then the whip   
licked against his lower back, and began tracing upwards.  
  
"Now, you have a choice. I can hit your back. I can hit your ass. I can hit your legs.   
Either way, you won't be moving for a long time. Maybe I'll keep you like this forever;   
I like this view of you. So submissive, though I can feel you keeping your anger in   
check. Such a perfect sight, though I would have you willing."  
  
"Then make me."  
  
The whip slapped against his ass and Boromir screamed. "Don't tempt me, Boromir. I am   
already on the edge of doing so. And you will not speak. You will not make any noise   
whatsoever. Do you understand me?"  
  
Panting from the pain and the tears which he refused to let fall, Boromir gathered the   
strength to form words. "Stop. Please, Aragorn, stop!" Another crack. Another scream of   
pain. "Oh, my god! Aragorn - please! Please, my love, stop! I don't want this!"  
  
"I," Aragorn said and let the whip fall with all the strength of Gondor's dark king   
behind it, "don't care. Answer me. Do you understand me?"  
  
"Yes, I understand you," the last word was punctured with another scream as the whip hit   
once again. Boromir wondered through the haze of pain how he must look. Was his ass   
swelling with welts or was Aragorn somehow keeping it down long enough to criss-cross it  
first and then watch his handiwork blossom? Somehow it seemed important.  
  
"Good," the whip fell once more, but this time the pain was lighter. "And, Steward, if   
you don't, I'm going to gag you. And then I'm going to blindfold you, turn you over onto   
your soon-to-be-sore back, and whip your chest. And you won't be able to see where I'll   
strike next."  
  
Boromir managed to keep his tongue, but he couldn't stop the voice in his mind from   
wailing about this, begging Aragorn not to do this, not to mark him like that. And he   
knew Aragorn heard. Heard and didn't care, which hurt more than the whip striking his   
back again, again, again. Boromir wondered how much of this he could take before passing   
out into the wonder of unconsciousness. He wondered how much he could take before   
Aragorn would let him do so.  
  
Six. Seven. Eight. Losing count and starting again to stop himself from crying out.   
Three. Four. Five. Pause. And then a tongue, licking at the welts, licking at the   
wounds, at the blood that swelled in some places. Tasting. Probing. Knowing hands over  
his body, stroking, relaxing him, moving south. Boromir groaned. It was too soon.   
Aragorn couldn't be hard already, could he? Damn the Ring. And received a slap across a   
welt for his thought.  
  
"You're going to enjoy this." Dark promises, always kept, Boromir knew. Didn't matter   
that he had already bitten his tongue bloody, didn't matter that all he could think of   
was the pain on his back, his ass, his thighs. Didn't matter, any of it. Because Aragorn   
promised that he was going to make him enjoy this, and so it would happen. Even if it   
was more a threat than a promise. Even if Boromir still didn't want this. Even if all   
Boromir wanted was to curl up and not hurt anymore, curl up with Aragorn and just sleep.   
He couldn't keep back a choked sob at that. Curl up with Aragorn and sleep.  
  
"Hush, my love, we'll do that soon. But first I'm going to enter you. First I'm going to   
make you scream in pleasure. Then I'll make your pain go away. Shh, love, don't cry. I   
promise I won't be angry when I'm done. And isn't that a good thing, to be able to rid   
your King of anger? I could have killed a man and relaxed instead. Isn't this way   
better?"  
  
'I would rather you killed a man,' Boromir could not let himself say. He didn't trust   
his voice, he didn't trust Aragorn's reaction to that.  
  
"Shh, my love, don't cry. I hate it when you do that. You look so vulnerable like that,   
even though I know you're not. You're my strong one, the anchor that keeps me tied to   
this middle-earth. You're my tower in this ocean of troubles. I love you, my Boromir,   
and I'm never letting you go. I'll fight Mandos himself for you, even if right now I   
know you don't want me to. Even if right now you only want me to stop. Because you gave   
yourself to me, and you're mine. Mine, my love, and I'm never giving you up."  
  
Words that at any other time would never have failed to calm him made him only more   
anxious. Was Aragorn serious? What did Aragorn truly mean when he said love? "I'm your   
whore, Aragorn, and you use me as such."  
  
"And you usually enjoy it."  
  
"Not tonight."  
  
Aragorn seemed to hear everything Boromir dared not even think. "Hush, my love. Soon you   
will. And then I will let you sleep, let you wrap yourself around me. I'll take away   
your pain and tend to your beautiful wounds." Butterfly kisses between his wounds, down   
his back, cleaning off the drying blood. Gentle hands massaging his ass, spreading it   
gently. Hot breath blowing on the welts, mixing with the pain.  
  
"Do you...do you have to do this, Aragorn?"  
  
"Yes." And then slicked fingers working their way inside him, and when oh when had   
Aragorn had the time to have done that and probing and pushing and touching and oh!   
Boromir arched off the bed into Aragorn's hand. "Better?"  
  
"Damn you!"  
  
"I'll take that as a yes." Aragorn's other hand had taken advantage of Boromir's   
position to sneak under him and began to stroke his cock into excitement. "Now close   
your eyes and forget about everything but my cock, and my hands, and my voice in your   
head."  
  
Sounded easy enough, and the fingers probing inside him promised good things if he   
complied. Protests forgotten, Boromir allowed himself to be lulled into tranquility.   
Maybe this wouldn't be so horrible as he had thought.  
  
"Now, I want you to relax, my love. This is going to hurt if you don't, and I think I've   
hurt you enough for one night. You have twenty marks in all and I think that's quite   
enough. You've held up bravely, my dear. Time for your reward." Third finger. Fourth   
finger. A relaxing presence in his mind. And then Aragorn was inside him fully for the   
second time that night. Filled him, and filling him, in and out so slightly that Boromir   
didn't notice it at first. And then Aragorn quickened his pace, sliding and slipping,   
and always, always, touching that wonderful spot. Minutes like this, pure bliss, who   
cared about the low ache in his back, just Aragorn in him like he should be. "Come for   
me," and Boromir couldn't refuse, spilling his seed onto Aragorn's waiting hand, feeling   
Aragorn climax inside him.  
  
And then Aragorn was unlocking the restraints, rubbing at the growing bruises. Washing   
the wounds, applying medicines Boromir hadn't known Aragorn kept in his quarters, all   
the while stroking his back, assuring him everything would be fine. Keeping him in that   
pleasant Aragorn-inducing haze.  
  
"I didn't want to," he insisted thickly, knowing that Aragorn heard him no matter how   
low his whisper was from his sore throat, or how much his lungs ached to speak after so   
much screaming.  
  
There was no pause in the ministrations as Aragorn replied. "I know, my love. But I like   
to see you defy me, weak though it was. You're not some mindless savant like some of   
those who try to serve me. I like to see you struggle, all the while knowing you're   
going to lose. I like to see you give in. I like to see you fall apart because of me." A  
kiss on his head as skillful hands finished binding his wounds. "Now sleep. No one will   
disturb you for days."  
  
Boromir held out for a kiss on his lips, first of the night, before allowing the   
suggestion to take hold. He slipped into unconsciousness with his king's name on his   
lips.  
  
  
  



End file.
